Game Day

There was no Cory here tonight to pass out silly hats and noisemakers from the dollar store.  We didn't pile onto the couch to watch the ball drop in Times Square on tv.  I avoid my living room like the plague...still.  New Year's Eve has lost any marginal appeal it once had because now starting each new year means entering another year without my Cory Girl.

Or does it?

I made breakfast for dinner for the boys tonight and after we ate, we sat down to play board games for a bit.  Jake's job was to get the game ready as I finished up the dishes and Tim saw to the puppy.  Jake handed me some used score sheets he found inside the box from years gone by, a couple of which were in Cory's handwriting, and made my heart skip a beat:  Team J & C (Jacob and Cory) versus Team M & D (Mom and Dad).

It is complete and utter joy to find this sort of proof that she was here, that she was real.  I suspect every bereaved parent out there knows just what I mean.  I ran my fingers over her writing, and sat the sheets aside to tape into my journal.

When we switched out games a bit later, Tim came up from the basement with a bit longer face than when he headed down to choose another game.  When asked, he said, "Well, I saw the Candyland game down there with the others and all I could think about was all the times me and Cory played that when she was little, and how she always had to be Queen Frostine.  Every time.  Queen Frostine."

I couldn't even look at him.  Once I saw his eyes were full of tears, I had to put my head down.  Sometimes I forget how much he is hurting, too.  You see, he wasn't there for every moment, and I give him a lot of grief for the four years we were separated that he chose not to take Cory on the weekends...a LOT of grief, but...

 Queen Frostine.  I think I'll shut up now.  He may have missed what he missed, but there is no other man out there who  played CandyLand with my girl.